


The Haunted Shores of Avalon

by KatieHavok



Series: Breeding Lilacs [64]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Married Couple, Minor Original Character(s), No Newtina, No Theta/Theleta, Oblivious Newt, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Protective Queenie Goldstein, Queenewt, Regret, Romance, Shameless Smut, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 04:42:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17217179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieHavok/pseuds/KatieHavok
Summary: His current predicament is a testament to his high-functioning absent-mindedness: he had simply forgotten the single guest bedroom — a luxury in New York apartments, and slated to be redecorated soon of necessity — was occupied by Theseus, his wife, and their children. So he’d gone in without thought to fetch a book in his typically stealthy manner, and been greeted by… them.*Newt is reminded of the brightness of his future over Christmas.





	The Haunted Shores of Avalon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Annjushka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annjushka/gifts).



> THIS IS NOT A NEWTINA FIC!
> 
> Just wanted to get that out there before you guys felt duped/cheated. ;) Also, while I'm aware that the Goldstein's are meant to be Jewish in canon, they do marry goy men in this series and I couldn't find a way to fit in a mention of Chanukah, so I defaulted to the "leftover Chanukah wrapping paper" trope because it _bothers_ me that I couldn't make it work. No erasure intended, and if reading about canon Jewish character celebrating Christmas is going to bother you, then feel free to turn back now.
> 
> For Annjushka, who wanted more Queenewt smut. ;)

*  
  
Newt Scamander is no stranger to regret.

Indeed, a strong argument could be made that regret was directly responsible for his particular circumstances: tied to a woman he _wouldn’t_ have chosen for himself, watching the woman he _would_ choose married off to his pillock of a brother, and witnessing the slow dissolution of their marriage from afar.  
  
His current predicament is a testament to his high-functioning absent-mindedness: he had simply _forgotten_ the single guest bedroom — a luxury in New York apartments, and slated to be redecorated soon of necessity — was occupied by Theseus, his wife, and their children. So he’d gone in without thought to fetch a book in his typically stealthy manner, and been greeted by… _them_.  
  
The room was dark save the pre-dawn glow through the curtains, the children asleep in their bed in the corner. Tina and Theseus were in the double bed, moving together, though it took only a single shocked glance for Newt to retreat, just as silently, and hurry into the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea.  
  
The saucer rattles on the way to his lips, where he manages a few fortifying sips before putting his head in his hands, willing the image away. The problem isn’t so much the sight or even the people, but what their bodies had betrayed: Theseus’ pointed thrusting, his knuckles stark against his wife’s skin. Tina’s head turned away from her husband, her mouth and shoulders set in a tense line, her skin waxy-pale.  
  
While his brother’s movements spoke of enthusiasm and enjoyment, Tina’s body-language hinted only at _endurance_ , no pleasure to be found. And though Newt has more than come to terms with the vagaries of his life and accepted he _doesn’t have her_ , it discomfits him in ways to can’t articulate to imagine her being _hurt_.  
  
“Oh, honey,” his wife sighs from the doorway. “It’s okay to be hurt, ‘cause it hurts me, too.”  
  
Queenie comes to him, putting her arms around his shoulders and patting his head. He clings to her, pressing his face into her stomach before lifting her sheer nightgown to kiss her skin. She is peach-pale beneath her clothing, her skin tone healthy and vital.

Newt cradles the swollen expanse below her navel, where a small but proud prominence is just showing and smiles up at her. “How do you feel?” he asks, effectively turning the conversation away from their temporary guests.  
  
She straddles his lap with an easy smile, running her fingers through his hair. “I feel peachy,” she promises. “You know I only start to feel whoopsy at night, anyway. I’m hoping tonight and tomorrow will be the exception.” She glances out the snow-bright window as he presses a line of kisses over her shoulder. “And you were right, baby: it’s gonna be a white Christmas.”  
  
“My knee _never_ lies,” he promises gravely and slides his arms around her waist before standing. Queenie smiles up at him, her face and lips bare, hair still wrapped around newfangled foam rollers and covered with pink satin, house robe hanging askew. Newt soaks her in to push aside the vision of his brother and sister-in-law, allowing the simple joy of the _here_ and _now_ to suffuse him until his wife stands on tiptoes to kiss him sweetly.  
  
“Teenie made her own choices,” Queenie reminds him, not for the first time. “She has to live with them, and she will.” She kisses him again, a little deeper until he is visited with a much more _pleasant_ mental image.  
  
Smirking, his wife draws away from the circle of his arms to strut across the room, pulling milk and eggs from the icebox. “Save that for _later,_ ” she says with a wink, and she fills his senses completely when he helps her prepare breakfast for the hungry horde.  
  
*  
  
Newt spends Christmas eve in a pleasant sort of agony.  
  
The red frustration of morning gives way to heady anticipation as the day wears on, his wife using her not-inconsiderable arsenal of tricks to tease him along the way.

Tina and Theseus are coolly civil to both their hosts and each other, only exhibiting genuine warmth toward their children. By the time evening gift-giving comes rolling around, they sit on opposite ends of the couch, a child in each of their laps as they instruct it to open only one gift — carefully wrapped in leftover blue and silver paper from Chanukah — and save the rest for the morning.  
  
Newt half expects Tina to pull him aside and verbally ream him for walking in on them, but by evening he’s convinced that neither of them had noticed. Still, he watches their gift-exchange carefully, and can’t help but notice the flash of disappointment when Tina’s husband gives her a piece of jewelry. Neither can he miss Theseus’ genuine delight in the boring tie _she_ gifts him.  
  
Queenie catches his eye, and her expression is stricken enough to prompt Newt to go to her.  
  
Getting the children into bed is a spectacle, and Newt carefully observes the veteran parents while making notes for his own impending offspring. Theseus and Tina retire soon after, sharing a strained glass of brandy with their hosts before begging off for the evening, all of which suits Newt just fine.  
  
He has _intentions_ for his wife, after all.  
  
She can read him easily after years of exposure, and she is nearly vibrating with anticipation when they enter their bedroom. Queenie’s hardly through the door before he’s on her, kissing her deeply, his hands finding her perfect curls to muss them before working at the buttons of her favored navy dress.  
  
“Easy, baby,” she breathes when his fingers fumble and he almost tears the fine silk. “I ain’t always got the energy for mending spells, these days.”  
  
The reminder of her condition puts a damper on his passion, and his touch is infinitely gentle when he slides the silk off her shoulders, taking time to pepper every inch of newly-exposed skin before loosening her girdle. She sighs in relief when he removes her stockings with a practiced flick and tangles her fingers in his hair as he kisses the length of her leg to the ankle before slowly working his way back up.  
  
“I love you,” he says, pushing all his _affection love want need_ forward for her to hear, and kisses her rounded belly. “And I love _you,_ ” he tells the bump, their progeny, his pup.

Queenie giggles delightedly.  
  
“We both know that,” she promises before leading him to the bed, where they kneel on the mattress to allow her to strip him with practiced ease. She murmurs and touches every mottled inch of his skin with her fingertips, dragging her manicured nails over the places that make him shiver before pushing the center of his chest, forcing him to first sit, then lay flat.  
  
“I want you, too,” she breathes off his thought and crawls over him until her center hovers over his face, imploring him to touch and taste.

He begins with light brushes over her hips and thighs, moving in tight spirals and long, slow waves that causes her skin to erupt into goosebumps, her peachy nipples hardening into points. She sighs when he teases her dimples and curves until she shivers, fingernails digging into his scalp when she breathes his name.  
  
“Yes, alright,” he murmurs and lifts his head to kiss where she is damp and sticky, sweet clime already flowing from within. He kisses her again, adding incremental suction until she shifts, settling against his mouth — a butterfly alighting on his lips. He groans at the feel of her before running out his tongue to taste, dragging through her folds until he finds her clit, earning a moan.  
  
Newt plunges his tongue deeper, cataloging the changes in her flavor, the new heat in her cunt as she gasps above him. Queenie’s thighs quiver until he wraps his arms around them, simultaneously supporting her and keeping her in place as her hips begin to roll, seeking friction in practiced movements.

He nods encouragingly when she finds his eyes, holding his gaze as she rocks above him.  
  
“There,” she gasps after a time, fingers clenching his hair. She moves faster when he begins to flick the tip of his tongue rapidly, muscles trembling as she rides his face. “Right there,” she breathes and transfers her hands from his hair to the headboard as she shudders. “Keep doing that, baby…”  
  
His fingertips sink into her skin when she is suddenly heavy in his arms, gasping his name as she pulses against his lips. He steadies her with a hand in the small of her back as she slumps, gentling the movement of his mouth until the last tremor works through her and her limbs slacken, her essence coating his lips.  
  
Queenie pets his hair when she recovers, bequeathing him with a radiant smile. “That was good, honey,” she breathes as he suckles her inner thigh.

Her limbs are steady when she finally rolls off him, catching his hand to tow him upright. She tweaks her own nipples, darkened with pregnancy, as she reclined against the pillows, parting her thighs in invitation while stroking his scarred forearms.  
  
Newt takes his time crawling over her, dipping his tongue into the cup of her navel before dragging it over her stomach to swirl around a nipple. She gasps when he sucks the swell of her tit into his mouth, tasting her light sweat before releasing it with a pop.

“C’mere,” Queenie commands, tugging lightly at his hair, fingers circling him as they kiss.  
  
He drops his head with a groan as she lines them up, locking her ankles at the small of his back to lift her pelvis as he slowly pushes in, giving her time to adjust. Queenie rocks her head to the side, allowing Newt to press his lips down her jaw and cheek, gasping when he withdraws only to sink back in, skin erupting into goosebumps at the familiar, delicious friction.  
  
“Oh, _Newt_ ,” she sighs until she tightens around him and he fists the sheets, groaning when she comes. She pants through her recovery as he adjusts the angle of their hips, pressing her thighs apart to grind her clit — inwardly triumphant when she chokes on his name.

Her second orgasm is sweeter, more musical, her fingernails digging red ribbons into his skin as she keens and trembles beneath him.  
  
“One more,” Newt growls against her ear, a promise and a challenge.

She moans enthusiastic agreement while working with him to slide her ankles over his shoulders, tightening and lengthening the reach of his thrusts until his head falls forward with a helpless moan, sweat dappling his back and thighs as his thumb centers over her clit.  
  
Queenie curls her fingers into his skin, rotating her hips beneath him in tight spirals, making them both groan. “Almost there,” she promises his frantic, searching look, and shows her teeth. “Come with me.”  
  
Newt gasps at that, hips snapping forward hard enough to make her breasts sway. Keening, he does it again, one hand clenching the swell of her hip, the other wrapped around her thigh as he closes his eyes, waiting for the first clench of her orgasm to wrap around him before surrendering, pressing deep to lose himself in bliss.  
  
He helps her lower her legs before catching his weight on shaking elbows and knees, kissing her sweat-fragrant skin with numb lips. “And that’s why we’re gonna have lots of babies,” Queenie mumbles, sounding a little dazed. “We can’t keep our hands off’a each other.”  
  
“I don’t mind that,” Newt admits while crawling off of her, a slow shuffle that deposits him at her side. She goes into his embrace automatically, humming when he cradles her stomach. “I do love children, you know, among...other things.”

He smirks down at her, stroking her skin with a heavy hand until she kisses his palm, expression suddenly pensive.  
  
“I love my sister,” Queenie says slowly, feeling along her words, “and I ain’t mean enough to _gloat_ for having you, but...she really is a Dumb Dora for giving you up.” She ruffles his hair when he pushes himself to his elbow to watch her face. “I’m sorry you had to see that this morning but I’m also _glad_ because I think it’ll help you get over her once and for all.” Queenie chews her lips. “Does that make me selfish?”  
  
Newt shakes his head before leaning in to kiss her. “No,” he murmurs against her lips, her shivery breath reminding him once again of her essential humanity. “You haven’t a selfish bone in your body, love. Please don’t concern yourself on that count.”  
  
She drinks the truth of his feelings directly from his head when he pushes it _forward_ , delighting in the way she wipes away happy tears before embracing him. “You’re a good man, Newt Scamander,” she breathes and laughs when he uses a corner of the blanket to dry her eyes. “Please don’t ever change.”  
  
“I’ve no intention of it,” he promises, tucking her in and arranging himself so he’s cradling his wife and unborn child in his arms. “I love you.”  
  
“I love you, too, honey,” she says and kisses him sweetly before propping her head on his shoulder, where they pass the remainder of the night watching the snow swirling behind the window.  
  
* 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic concludes The Great Fic Sprint of 2017/2018. I'm glad I met my goals, but I'm even gladder that I can now take a well-deserved break and focus on myself for a while. Whew.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Kemara for beta-reading, advice and encouragement.
> 
> I do have a Tumblr, though I can't guarantee I'll be on it much anymore since I plan on distancing myself from this fandom in the new year. Nevertheless, if you'd like to follow me, I can be found at [@katiehavok](http://katiehavok.tumblr.com). :)


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